


Severe Illness

by lopingloup



Series: Whumptober 2018 [28]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Amputation, And He Gets One!, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, InnOwner!Amaya, Katolis, M/M, Runaan needs a hug, Touch-Starved, Whump, gren is adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 08:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lopingloup/pseuds/lopingloup
Summary: Amaya owns a small inn, where Gren works. When an elf comes in with an injured arm and almost causes a riot, Gren finds himself helping the enemy.





	Severe Illness

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's posting more whumptober instead of actually finishing writing the last whumptober prompt??? Meeee. My last prompt is also a The Dragon Prince fic, though they're quite different in style. This is a rather gory fic but Gren here is far more light-hearted than the guilty, angsty and tired Gren i'm writing in my other one, opps (which is currently at 19k and not done ack).
> 
> anyway, beware the tags, in case amputation squicks you out. And i hope you enjoy this total angst-fest.
> 
> Huge thanks to InkRanOut for her wonderful betaing, and thanks to Imperial Dragon, as always - you're both amazing <3 <3

Business was steady, the inn rumbling quietly with the tired chatter of regulars. It was quiet enough that Gren heard the low scuff of the door opening, dragging a little over the uneven floorboards like it always did. Gren looked curiously up from where he’d been wiping down the sticky bar, ready to welcome another local seeking a warm drink after a long day in the rain, but instead a tall figure slipped in through the door. They were shrouded in a dark, floor-length cloak, the hood shadowing their face.

Gren blinked in surprise and talk dropped away as other customers turned to stare at the stranger. Gren watched as the tall traveller walked silently over to sit in a corner, putting their back to the wall. Gren expected them to lower their hood and shake the rain off once they’d sat down but the stranger just sat silently, appearing tense.

Gren jumped at a sharp poke in his ribs and turned to see Amaya looking pointedly at him.

_They might be important!_ she signed. _Go see what they want!_

Gren huffed in pretend annoyance, giving her a mock salute before he wrung the water out of his cloth and, drying his hands on his apron, headed over to the corner table. Nerves flickered vaguely in his stomach, unused as he was to mysterious, and possibly important, strangers gracing Amaya’s little village inn, but he put on a bright smile.

“Good evening!” he said cheerily. The inn was quiet, clearly listening in. The regulars were as curious as Gren as to the identity of this stranger. “Terrible weather we’re having, don’t you think?” There no response except that the stranger had tipped their head slightly, clearly listening. Gren awkwardly cleared his throat. “So, what can I get for you? I can vouch for the quality of our fine ales and hearty food, and tonight’s-”

“A meal, and ale,” the cloaked traveller said in a gravelly male voice. He set a silver coin on the table and Gren cautiously picked it up.

“Certainly!” Gren said, laughing nervously. “And would that be the house ale?” The man didn’t respond so Gren just awkwardly nodded to himself as he put the coin in his apron. “Okay, it won’t be long!” The cloak shifted slightly as the stranger gave a small nod and Gren felt a measure of relief that the maybe-important visitor didn’t seem displeased, whilst at the same time noticing how the material of the man’s thick cloak sat oddly atop the man’s head, as if there were something under it.

Gren realised he’d been stood there a moment too long. “Right away,” he said awkwardly and hurried back to the bar. The man probably just had a strange hairstyle, or perhaps, though it was unlikely, they had an oddly shaped head and that’s why he kept his hood up. Gren chewed his lip as he went to tell the kitchen boy, Callum, that they needed a big bowl of stew and their freshest bread and butter, before he went to fill a glass with ale.

_What did they say?_ Amaya asked, once she had his attention. Gren didn’t immediately reply as he finished filling the tankard and set it on the bar. He stashed the money under the bar and then put his hands on his hips.

“Nothing, really,” he said, frowning. “He literally spoke,” he counted on his fingers, “four words to me.” Amaya frowned over at their visitor and Gren just shrugged. “Oh well,” he said, smiling. “It’s money in pocket and maybe if he likes it here, he’ll bring his ever-so-important friends next time, hm?”

Amaya looked troubled. _What if he’s a criminal, though? Or a dangerous mage?_ she signed. _Did he ask for a room?_

Gren’s stomach tightened a little and he forced himself not to glance over at the stranger, since the eyes of the inn’s customers were on them and he didn’t want to reveal his worry.

“No, not yet,” he said quietly. “But it’s raining heavily. I doubt he’ll want to go back out in that. I wouldn’t!”

Amaya made a noise in her throat and shook her head. _Just stay on your guard_, she told him. Gren just nodded.

Callum came out of the kitchen a moment later with the bread and stew and Gren hurriedly intercepted him.

“Woah there! I’ll take them over,” he said. Callum looked at him in surprise.

“But why can’t-” he started, clearly bristling with curiosity at the presence of the cloaked traveller.

“He might be dangerous, kiddo,” Gren said quietly. “It’s probably completely fine, but just stay in the kitchen, okay?” Callum grudgingly nodded and sloped back to the kitchen, though not before glancing over at the visitor.

Gren sighed, collecting the ale before he headed back to the stranger and carefully slid the food onto the table, being extra cautious not to spill anything.

“Er, I hope you enjoy your meal, sir,” he said, nervously rubbing his hands on his apron. “Just give me a shout if you need anything.”

The stranger just nodded and Gren noticed again how the man’s hood moved oddly over his head, but he turned away, telling himself that it was none of his business. Still, he watched the cloaked man as he refilled regulars’ tankards, noting how the man only used his gloved right hand to spoon stew into his mouth and drink from the tankard. Gren wondered worriedly if the other hand was laid on a weapon under the table, but perhaps he was fretting too much.

Later, he left Amaya at the bar in order to head through the kitchen and down the steps to the cellar to haul another ale casket up the rickety steps. Whistling to himself down in the cool silence, he didn’t realise that anything was amiss until he was half-way back up the stairs, the heavy ale casket pressed to his chest. Then he heard Callum’s panicked voice calling his name and he ran up the remaining steps and almost collided with the smaller boy.

“What? What is it?” he panted as he put the casket down too fast and it hit the floor with a _clunk_.

“There’s a- a-” Callum garbled, jabbing his finger forwards to point through the doorway into the bar and Gren bolted out of the kitchen. Amaya wasn’t behind the bar and Gren, his heart thumping, took in the situation at a hurried glance. A small crowd of regulars, weapons glinting in many of their hands, were standing around the stranger, whose hood was thrown off.

An elf. The cloaked stranger was an _elf_ and Gren stared for a moment, stunned. It was _horns_ he’d seen moving oddly under the thick material of the hood. He saw Amaya was stood squarely in amongst the hostile crowd, her hands out. The elf had a lethal-looking, silver weapon in one hand and a half-snarl on his handsome face, and the inn’s patrons looked just as ready to attack.

Gren darted around the side of the bar and came quickly to Amaya’s side.

_Tell them they’ll bring the anger of-_ Amaya started signing quickly and Gren translated as she was speaking.

“‘You’ll bring the anger of the elves down on you if you harm one of theirs and they’ll kill all of us!’” Gren said for Amaya. “‘And he’ll kill dozens of you before you can strike him. Don’t start a fight you can’t win, Damien!’”

There were disgruntled grumblings, and Damien, who seemed to be the ring-leader, spoke up with a snarl, “He’s a fucking elf!”

Always prone to losing his temper, the man looked ready to snap the elf’s neck and the elf seemed equally on edge. Despite the tense situation, Gren still took notice that the elf was holding his weapon in his right hand, and his left was hanging limply enough at his side that it made Gren think if there was something wrong with it.

“They think they’re so superior,” Damien continued fiercely, “coming in here like he fucking owns the place-”

“I meant no harm,” the elf rumbled in that low, compelling voice.

Damien spat on the floor and Amaya twitched at the disrespect.

“Guys!” Gren said, a touch desperately. “Calm down and think about this!” He fixed Damien with a pleading look. “Are you willing to risk your family, Damien, risk Ameil and Lunsa’s lives, just because he came in here?” Damien narrowed his eyes but he didn’t say anything or try to kill the elf so Gren took it for a short-term win.

“Look, I understand why you’re angry,” he continued, uneasy with the number of hostile eyes on him, including the elf’s, but Amaya gave him a nod and he took strength from her. “We’re all angry, it’s been a really hard few years, but taking it out on one elf won’t fix anything! It’ll just make the elves more likely to come over the border and kill us all in our sleep and,” he laughed nervously, “I don’t want that, do you? Let’s not risk it? Let’s just let the elf leave and he’ll get out of here.”

He cast a pleading look at the elf who inclined his head solemnly. He looked determined, his brows furrowed in the middle, but he also looked tired, not aggressive.

“Very good,” Gren said, relieved, and the elf, his blade still in hand, moved to go past Gren and Amaya, towards the door. One of Damien’s friends, Nathen, and several others were between the elf and the door and for a moment it looked like they wouldn’t move and Gren’s breath caught in his chest. Just as he was trying to figure out what to say, Damien gave Nathen a nod and, grudgingly, he stepped aside, followed by the others.

The elf slipped past them and only paused at the door to nod at Amaya and Gren before he was gone, his dark cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow. Gren released a breath and pinched his nose wearily.

“Damn,” he muttered as the patrons slumped back to their seats, weapons put back at their belts.

_You did well_, Amaya signed and Gren smiled, touching Amaya’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said. “You were the real badass though.” He winked and Amaya rolled her eyes, striding back to the bar. Gren looked down at the barely-eaten stew and ale and sighed, feeling a stirring of pity for the elf. He’d only wanted something to eat and somewhere warm on what was a foul night.

He picked up the food and ale and headed towards the kitchen and out the back into the rain, planning to feed it to the pigs, when a noise from the stable made him pause. It had sounded like a soft groan and Gren stepped hesitantly towards the door of the stables.

“Ezran?” he said, calling their stables boy. But it was late and Amaya would have told Ez to head to bed already.

Gren headed warily inside and then came to a sharp stop when he saw the elf stood there, lit from behind by the lantern hanging outside the inn, the light flickering in the gusting wind. Gren stared at the tall elf, his gaze dropping warily to the weapon in the elf’s belt.

The elf put up a gloved hand. “I’ll go,” he said lowly, taking a step away, but Gren didn’t miss how the elf’s gaze flickered down to the bowl in Gren’s hand.

Gren opened his mouth and then shut it as the elf edged backwards, clearly wanting to leave before Gren called for reinforcements.

Just as the elf was heading into the rain, Gren found his tongue. “Wait!” he said. The elf stilled. Gren looked down at the food in his hands and then awkwardly held it out. “Seems a waste to just give it to the pigs, when you could have it. Just as long as no-one else sees you.” He laughed uncertainly. “They’re not too happy about you being here.” He coughed and offered the bowl and the ale again.

The elf looked down at it and then back at Gren’s face, seeming to be assessing him. “Are _you_ not displeased?” he said in his rough voice.

Gren lifted his eyebrows and then shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I don’t know you, but…” he trailed off. “I don’t want to decide I hate you without even knowing you,” he said finally. The elf blinked, his face closed off and hard to read.

After a moment, the elf slowly reached out a hand and Gren happily passed over the stew. The elf looked down at it for a moment and then glanced around the stable. His left arm stayed limp at his side and Gren watched curiously as the elf moved a couple of steps away to set the bowl on the small side table, which was strewn with horse tack, brushes and folded blankets covered in horse hair. They didn’t have any horses in just now but when one of the local lords turned up with his hunting party demanding to be housed, they had to be ready at a moment’s notice with enough blankets and food for half a dozen horses.

The elf sat hesitantly down on a haybale beside the table and, still eying Gren warily, started to eat, clearly ravenous even as he ate slowly. Gren realised that he was looming over the elf and came over to set the ale on the table beside the elf. The elf tensed when Gren came towards him, relaxing again only when Gren backed off and sat on the edge of a cold stone trough.

The rain was heavy on the roof and the elf shivered minutely, his cloak clearly sodden with rain. He still wasn’t using his left arm.

“So…” Gren said, his voice sounding loud in the quiet. The elf glanced sideways at him but didn’t stop eating. “I’m Gren. Amaya took on the inn from her father a little while back so she’s pretty protective over it. She’s the one who made sure you didn’t get…um,” Gren flushed and broke off, cursing his rambling mouth. “Yeah, she’s uh great. I really owe her for taking me in.” He fiddled with his apron, shivering as a draft crept down his neck. He pulled a horse blanket from where it was slung over a nearby stable door and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“I wasn’t doing too great until she gave me a job and somewhere to sleep,” he continued quietly, “so I…know what’s it’s like to be hungry, and not have somewhere to get out of the rain.” He swallowed and cast a glance at the elf, who was drinking the ale with his violet eyes unfocused, like his mind was elsewhere. “You probably shouldn’t go into any other inns, though, you know, human ones.” He fidgeted. “People are still…upset.”

The elf acknowledged him with a nod but didn’t speak and Gren felt like getting to his feet to leave, sensing that his presence wasn’t welcome, but he didn’t want to leave the elf unaccompanied out here. It wasn’t that he thought the elf wanted to harm anyone exactly, but just that Gren was nervous for Ezran and Callum’s safety, and he didn’t want to risk the boys accidentally running into the elf and startling him. As non-aggressive as the elf seemed, his first response had still been to grab his weapon and Gren was deeply protective of the two young boys. He didn’t worry about Amaya because he knew that she could look after herself perfectly well. She wouldn’t be happy with the elf being out here, though, because it would be terrible for business if people thought Gren and Amaya were elf-sympathisers.

“I’ll leave,” the elf said suddenly, tensing to stand, and Gren looked up sharply, realising that the elf must have caught something of his unease.

“No!” he said. He gestured gently for the elf to sit back down. “It’s okay, it’s just…” he waved his hand vaguely, referring to the state of the world, and sighed, pulling his blanket around him where it had slipped down his shoulders.

The elf went back to his food after a second and had soon scraped the bowl clean and tipped back the last of the ale. Gren watched him, multiple questions on the tip of his tongue: why was he in human territory? Was there something wrong with his arm? Where was he going? But he kept his mouth shut.

After a second, the elf turned to look at him, cocking his head slightly, as if in consideration. Gren looked back at him with raised eyebrows.

“Do you want more?” he asked cautiously.

The elf sent a glance at his empty bowl but shook his head. “I have a favour to ask,” he said, his tone grim and reluctant. “Likely, you wish me to leave, and I thank you for your kindness, but…” The elf clenched his jaw.

“Is it your arm?” Gren asked quietly and the elf’s gaze snapped over to him, sharp and briefly suspicious, before his shoulders sagged.

“So you noticed,” he said bleakly. “Yes, it is my arm.” Scanning Gren’s face once more, he pulled off one glove and then, carefully, the other. He untied the strings of his cloak with one hand and slid the sodden fabric off his shoulder. Gren watched with open curiosity, only to cover his mouth when he saw the elf’s right arm, which was badly swollen and a sickly shade of dark purple.

“What-” Gren started, shocked, before he noticed the white band around the elf’s upper arm, which was clearly constricting the blood flow to the rest of the elf’s limb. “Oh. So, you need something to cut the band off?” Gren said, already thinking of the sharp kitchen blades and which one would be best.

But the elf shook his head, his long, white hair brushing his face. “No,” he said quietly. “I bound myself. There is no blade in Xadia or Katolis or any of the other kingdoms able to cut it. I must remove my arm, else the blood poisoning will cause my death.”

Gren stared at him in horror. “Remove…your…arm-” he choked. “No!” he said sharply. “Definitely not!”

“Gren!” Gren stiffened when he heard Callum’s voice calling his name and the elf was on his feet almost instantly. “Gren?” Callum called again. Gren made hurried, pacifying gestures at the elf.

“I’ll be there in a moment!” he yelled back, watching the elf, who was tense as a bowstring.

There was a brief silence followed by a huff. “Well hurry up!” Callum said and Gren smiled slightly in amusement. “Amaya wants you!”

“Okay!” Gren yelled back. He cast his gaze back to the elf. “Look, I can’t help you,” his stomach twisted at what the elf had said and he grimaced, “with _that_, but if there’s-”

“I am perfectly capable of removing it myself with magic,” the elf interrupted. “It is herbs I need, to numb my arm, and to slow the bleeding.”

“Ew,” Gren muttered, “I can’t believe we’re talking about this! Are you really sure that-”

“Yes,” the elf said, his voice flat and hard, “I am certain. The band cannot be removed. I would not contemplate such a thing otherwise.”

Gren exhaled heavily. “If you…” he blinked, feeling sick as he imagined the elf doing that to himself. “Won’t you die from blood loss?” he persisted.

“No,” the elf said. “My magic will prevent it, but I need the herbs, so that I do not fall unconscious before I can complete the spell.”

“Oh,” Gren said faintly. The elf stared at him for a long moment and then shook his head and shrugged his cloak back onto his shoulders.

“I will come by what I need some other way,” he said. “I thank-”

“Wait, wait, what herbs is it?” Gren said. He glanced back at the inn, hoping that Callum wasn’t going to come running out to check where he was.

The elf paused briefly. “A combination of skullcap, blue lily, willow bark and motherwort would be ideal,” he said, still watching Gren with that steady, shrewd gaze. It made Gren want to fidget.

“I don’t know about ‘blue lily’,” he said, “but I think I can find the others. Amaya’s sister was a healer and Amaya still has her dried herbs, I think. I don’t know if they’ll be any use now. But they might be okay, right?”

The elf gave a slow nod. “If they were dried properly, they may have retained their properties, depending on how long it has been,” he said.

“Okay, okay good,” Gren said. “I’ll run inside and show Amaya I’m fine and grab the herbs for you?” The elf nodded. “I might be a while,” Gren warned, as he was shrugged off the blanket and brushing hay off his trousers. The elf pressed his lips into a thin line but he just inclined his head again. Gren started to leave, before pausing in the doorway. “Hey, uh, what’s your name?” he asked. “You don’t have to tell me of course! I just…”

“My name is Runaan,” the elf said quietly and Gren smiled a little.

“I like it,” Gren said and the elf’s lips twitched into a very slight smile, distracting Gren for a moment, before he nodded to himself. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised and then hurried away through the rain back to the inn.

_Where have you been?_ Amaya signed irritably when he appeared back behind bar. Gren laughed awkwardly and held up his hands.

“I saw a rat in the yard,” he said sheepishly. “It scared me! I had to make sure it was gone!”

Amaya rolled her eyes. _I can’t believe you can face down that lot_, she gestured to the customers, _and an angry elf, but you’re scared by a little rat!_

“It wasn’t little!” Gren protested weakly. He hurried around for a few minutes, cleaning up a spillage, drying some glasses and making sure the customers had enough food and ale, before he guiltily slipped away again and hurried quietly upstairs.

Reaching into his apron for his keys, he carefully unlocked the door to Amaya’s sister’s room, which now lay empty, dust motes swimming in the air in front of the lantern Gren had picked up from the hallway. He pushed the door to behind him, fighting down feelings of guilt.

“I hope you’d agree with me, Sarai,” he muttered to the empty, cold air as he rummaged through Sarai’s glass vials of dried herbs and various other things. “Stealing and lying is better than letting someone die, right? I mean, Amaya has done so much for me and I hate lying to her, and I know she would be _so_ mad at me for coming in here. And it’s for an elf, who’s our sworn enemy and maybe-possibly a murderer.” He paused, grimacing. “And when I say it like that it sounds really bad, but he might be innocent, right? And even if he isn’t, I can’t just let him- cut off his _arm_, without anything! Even if it _is_ with magic. I’d feel terrible. And you were a healer, you’d agree with me, I hope.” Gren sighed and kept searching.

“Skullcap!” He triumphantly held up the labelled vial, finding motherwort and willow bark soon afterwards, although the motherwort looked an odd colour and Gren squinted at it a moment before shrugging. “It’ll have to do,” he said, pushing the drawers shut and picking up his lantern to head back to the door, glancing both ways down the quiet corridor before he locked the door.

Hiding the vials in his apron, he returned the lantern to the hallway table and took the side way out the back door, avoiding the kitchen. He’d have to think up another excuse for Amaya to explain his disappearing act later.

Heading back out into the rain, Gren stepped back into the stable and couldn’t immediately see the elf.

“Runaan?” he said quietly, uneasy. “Are you there?”

Runaan stepped out of the shadows and Gren startled, because his eyes had swept right over the elf, wrapped up in his dark cloak. “Woah,” he said. “You’d be really good at hide and seek!”

“I…thank you.”

Gren flashed him a strained smile and then took the vials out of his apron. “I hope these are alright,” he said, putting them down on the table. Runaan came over to look at them, relief obvious in his face. “Lying to Amaya sucks,” Gren sighed and Runaan looked sideways at him.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“What?” Gren said, surprised at the solemnity of the elf’s apology. “It’s okay. I figure its important so…” he trailed off. The elf had unstopped the vial containing motherwort and was smelling it. He grimaced and Gren twisted his hands.

“I thought that might have gone off,” he said unhappily.

“It has,” Runaan confirmed, “but the others are well and I thank you for them.”

“It’s okay,” Gren said. “So…what now?”

Runaan picked up the now empty ale tankard and looked at it. “Do you have some water?” he asked.

When Gren returned with water, he saw that Runaan had ground the herbs together within the stew bowl with a flat rock he’d found and when Gren offered him the water, Runaan poured it on the herbs. He stirred it with his pale purple finger and then drank the mixture from the bowl. Gren swallowed at the sight of the elf’s elegant throat moving as he drank and quickly looked away, blushing.

Then the elf was shrugging off his cloak and Gren cringed at the sight of Runaan’s swollen left arm.

“Are you- I don’t-” Gren started, his stomach turning over.

Runaan looked at him. “You may wish to step outside,” he said.

“How can you be so calm?” Gren moaned morosely, already leaving. “Just be careful okay? Please?”

“I will try,” the elf said as Gren retreated. Then Gren was out in the rain and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

He waited nervously, shifting from leg to leg. Not long after, Gren heard an agonised groan of pain over the patter of the rain and he pressed his hand to his mouth, feeling sick. He could hear Runaan’s harsh breathing and soft, barely-there noises that were almost whimpers. He wanted to rush back inside, to help, but he knew he couldn’t do anything. He’d only ruin Runaan’s concentration, or throw up.

So Gren waited, twisting his hands fretfully, and then finally, when it had been silent for some time, he called quietly, “Runaan?” Runaan didn’t respond. “Runaan?” Gren repeated anxiously and then stepped inside.

“I…am…well,” Runaan said slowly. He was kneeling on the floor, his hand drenched in blood and his face clammy and paper-pale. He was shivering violently.

Gren swallowed thickly and hurried to grab a blanket, deliberately not looking at the- the- limp, bloody _arm_ that was now lying on the floor, detached from Runaan. Runaan flinched away when Gren knelt down in front of him, before his shoulders drooped in exhaustion and he let Gren drape the blanket over his shoulders. After a moment, desperate to provide some comfort to the shaking elf, Gren gently put his arm around Runaan, being very careful not to brush the recently closed and still blood-smeared stump of Runaan’s left arm.

Runaan was rigid for several long moments and Gren was about to pull away when Runaan finally lifted his right arm and pressed a large, warm hand to Gren’s back, sighing against his shoulder. He had stopped shaking so badly.

They pulled apart a moment later and Gren frowned at all the blood and stood up to fetch some water. He gently cleaned the blood off Runaan’s skin and got the worst of it off his shirt and trousers.

“I am in your debt,” Runaan said softly, his low voice barely audible.

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Gren said. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with…that, though.” He gestured to the side without looking. Runaan huffed and they were sat close enough that the elf’s hot breath brushed over the skin of Gren’s exposed neck. Gren shivered.

Runaan pulled back and lifted his right hand in the air. He muttered several words Gren didn’t know and Gren watched in amazement as the elf drew a glowing sigil in the air and then pushed it outwards. Gren yelped in shock as a small but scorching-hot flame spilled from the sigil and set the elf’s severed arm ablaze, reducing it to ash in moments.

“Well,” Gren said, stunned. “That’s convenient. I would ask that you don’t make any more fire, though, we _are_ in a stable…straw and wood burn really easily you know…”

Runaan regarded him wearily. “As you wish,” he said. He looked and sounded exhausted.

“You need to sleep,” Gren said gently.

Runaan seemed to try to pull himself together, sitting up a little, though he tilted sideways momentarily, the loss of his arm clearly off-setting his balance.

“I am well,” he said firmly.

“Yep,” Gren said. “I know you’re fine, it’s honestly amazing how fine you are, considering, but you still need to sleep.” The elf tried to get to his feet but swayed dizzily. “Woah!” Gren said, following the elf to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I will find somewhere else to sleep,” Runaan said slowly.

“Runaan,” Gren protested. “Honestly, I’m a little worried about you staying here, because of the boys and visitors and everything, but even I can see that you’re about to fall over.” He gestured to one of the stables. “I know its not the nicest, but if you use a few blankets, the straw’s clean and its warm and dry. Please?”

Runaan stared at him for a long moment. “Why do you care, human?”

Gren blinked. “My name’s Gren,” he said, giving Runaan a weak smile. “And I care because-” he shrugged. “Because I _do_, okay. We’ve got this far, would it really hurt just to sleep here?”

“You would have plentiful opportunity to kill me in my sleep,” Runaan said flatly, “or else call the king’s soldiers on me.”

“Don’t trust me at all?” Gren said, hurt despite himself. “If I didn’t care about you being okay, I could have ditched you and run a long time ago. But I came back didn’t I?” He knew he sounded wounded but he couldn’t help it. “I get why you’re wary, you haven’t seen the best side of humans, but I promise I-”

Runaan put a hand to his head and abruptly took a quick step towards a haybale, sitting down hard. He bowed his head, clearly fighting unconsciousness, and Gren looked on in alarm.

“Runaan?” Gren said nervously.

“I fear I have no choice but to put myself in your hands,” Runaan said, his voice muffled by his hands.

“It’ll be okay,” Gren said softly.

Gren fetched Runaan as many blankets as he could get his hands on and then helped the dizzy, exhausted elf into the stall nearest to the door, so that Runaan could slip out in the morning. Runaan passed out almost as soon as he was lying down and Gren gently laid blankets over him, resisting the urge to tuck a loose strand of Runaan’s beautiful, silver-white hair behind his pointed ear. He folded Runaan’s cloak and placed it at his side so that he wouldn’t be without it when he left. He cast one final look at the sleeping elf before he headed back to the inn, his shoulders slumped with relief.

Amaya threw several frustrated questions at him when he slipped back behind the bar and Gren had to lie, pretending a sudden stomach ache, which wasn’t hard to fake considering how sick with worry he’d felt. The lying made him feel painfully guilty, but the thought of Runaan, safe, warm and recovering, was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think??? Is Gren an absolute cutie who deserved to be protected forever? (yes, yes he is).


End file.
